Chapter 279

The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves as Lillian stepped onto the balcony of Sebastian Blackwood’s estate. The golden hues of twilight painted the sky, casting long shadows across the sprawling gardens below. She exhaled slowly, her breath forming a faint mist in the cool evening.

Inside, the grand hall buzzed with activity. The annual Lycan Council gathering was in full swing, and the mansion was filled with powerful werewolves from across the region. Lillian could hear the low hum of conversations, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter.

She had been avoiding the crowd, needing a moment to herself. The weight of recent events pressed heavily on her shoulders—Donovan’s betrayal, Evelyn’s smug glares, and the ever-present tension between her and Sebastian.

A familiar presence approached from behind.

“Hiding?” Sebastian’s deep voice sent a shiver down her spine.

Lillian didn’t turn. “Just needed some air.”

He stepped beside her, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. The scent of sandalwood and something distinctly him enveloped her senses.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he remarked, his tone unreadable.

She finally looked up at him. His piercing silver eyes held an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “I’ve been busy.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Liar.”

Before she could retort, the doors to the balcony burst open. Beatrice rushed out, her cheeks flushed. “Lillian! You need to see this.”

Lillian frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Beatrice grabbed her wrist, dragging her back inside. “Evelyn just announced something insane.”

Sebastian followed, his expression darkening. The crowd in the hall had gone eerily silent, all eyes fixed on Evelyn, who stood at the center of the room with Donovan at her side.

Evelyn’s voice rang out, dripping with triumph. “Donovan and I are expecting a child.”

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Lillian’s stomach dropped.

Donovan met her gaze, his expression unreadable.

And then—

The chandelier above them shattered.

Glass rained down as screams erupted.

Sebastian yanked Lillian against him, shielding her with his body.

When the chaos settled, Lillian’s eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway.

A woman—tall, regal, with eyes like molten gold.

“Hello, little sister,” she purred.

Lillian’s blood ran cold.

Isabella Fontaine.

Her long-lost sister had returned.

And she wasn’t alone.

Behind her stood a dozen armed warriors, their weapons drawn.

Sebastian’s grip on Lillian tightened.

“Well,” Isabella said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “This just got interesting.”

"That's none of your concern," I nearly snarled, my patience wearing thin. "Just let me do this without you hovering over me like some overbearing shadow."

I turned away, gritting my teeth as I limped toward the weightlifting area. At least here, I could sit down and still get a decent workout without putting too much strain on my injured ankle.

Starting with the lighter weights, I settled onto the bench and picked up a 30-pound dumbbell. After a few sets, I moved up to something heavier, my muscles burning with exertion. Glancing around, I noticed the gym was filled with towering, muscular men and a few equally intimidating women lifting weights that looked like they could crush me without effort.

It was enough to make me feel small, but I refused to let it shake me. I focused on my own routine, pushing through the growing ache in my ankle.

"You competing?"

The voice came from a woman on the bench next to mine. She was loading up a barbell with plates, her arms corded with muscle. Her sharp gaze flicked toward me, waiting for an answer.

Realizing she was speaking to me, I nodded.

"Yeah," I said.

"What pack?"

"Redmoon."

Her eyes swept over me, assessing. Then, without hesitation, she commanded, "Spot me."

The demand was so abrupt I nearly flinched. She wasn’t asking—she was telling. I wanted to protest, to say I could barely stand, let alone catch a falling barbell. But pride kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t let her see weakness.

Biting back a wince, I forced myself to stand and moved behind her, positioning my hands just beneath the bar.

She lay back, gripping the barbell with ease, her muscles flexing as she lifted it effortlessly.

"You competing too?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the throbbing in my ankle.

"Yep," she grunted between reps. "Name’s Genevieve. Most call me Gen."

The weight descended faster than she intended, and her breath hitched. Instinct kicked in—I lunged forward, grabbing the bar just before it could slam into her chest. The sudden movement sent a sharp crack through my ankle, pain shooting up my leg like lightning. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away, forcing the barbell back onto the rack.

Genevieve sat up, panting, her hand pressed to her chest.

"Damn," she muttered, eyeing me with newfound respect. "You’re quick. Thanks."

I swallowed hard, my lower lip stinging where I’d bitten it. "No problem," I managed, my voice tight. "I should go. Nice meeting you."

I turned to leave, each step sending fresh agony through my leg. The damage was worse now—I wasn’t sure I could even walk properly, let alone compete.

I was halfway to the exit when warmth draped over my shoulders. Before I could react, strong arms lifted me off the ground, and suddenly, I was airborne.